


Earthborn

by proosh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Space, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Science Fiction, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, idk I'll probably add more tags eventually, impermanent death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3685659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proosh/pseuds/proosh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the centuries since humanity ascended to the stars, they have found their galaxy empty of intelligent life. It was disappointing, but the nations quickly found themselves busy with war and trade and everything in between. That is, however, until the American Federation receives a transmission which might be the first sign of some sort of incredibly ancient, incredibly alien civilization on the edge of the known universe. Following the urge for power and knowledge in equal amounts, America will be joined by the mighty Prussian Empire in their virgin mission towards the source of the transmission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1 - Earthborn

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't noticed, this is going to be an on-going dark science-fiction project for a pairing that needs more love. It'll probably take a while to get into it because of the amount of world building and plot establishment that I need to get through. I'm going to try and make it as realistic as possible (with the exception of faster-than-light travel), but there will be little breaks in reality in order to progress the plot. Please read and review with your thoughts on what I could improve, I would really appreciate it! (The rating might change as this goes along, and depending if demand for explicit smut is high enough OTL )

The Interspacial Congress was not one of Gilbert's favourite places to be on any given day. It was stuffy and serious and the political correctness made him want to stab something. The Congress itself was set in neutral space, in a station that seemed to recall 22nd century architecture in a particularly garish way. Glancing at it through the window of his flagship, the albino's eyes narrowed in distaste, and his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth.  
  
“What time is it?” He asked his king, who looked thoroughly unimpressed with the whole thing. Due to the nature of the massive expanse of space, the nations and their bosses only met up once every ten years or so. Time meant nothing to the immortal beings, and these days the international community generally tried to keep out of each-other's hair. It was only fifty years ago that Alfred and Ivan had completely destroyed multiple systems in a territory dispute. Hell, two million men and women had died in a single catastrophic incident where someone miscalculated a FTL Jump and an entire fleet ended up crashing into the side of a planet.  
  
“It's time. We don't want to be late.” Gilbert didn't like his new king. The man was too cold, even for the militaristic image the albino had gently cultivated since the rebirth of the Prussian Empire. Kings were not meant to be frozen images of cruelty; they were supposed to be regal fatherly figures that inspired pride and awe in equal amounts. The representative of Prussia scowled, but nodded, turning to the airlock and nodding to the technician working. The doors slid open with a cool hiss and the two men walked through, flanked by numerous officers, all dressed in matching black and all striding in step, their plated boots loud against the floor. The centrifugal force of the station meant that they did not have to activate the in-built magnetic system, which made things considerably easier.  
  
Before he entered the hall in which the other nations and their bosses were undoubtedly waiting, Gilbert brushed some imaginary lint off his own uniform, which was as staunchly black as his officers'. Black and slightly lighter black made his own appearance more shocking, his bright red – subtly augmented with near-invisible mechanics – eyes narrowing as the impressive doors slid open. With a click of his heel against the floor, they strode in with synchronised movements, chins high in pride and expressions drawn into practiced neutrality. They were cold and powerful and intimidating, and were blatantly in control of the situation.

The room immediately hushed upon his entrance, all eyes immediately drawn to the men as they strode in unison, soon finding their places around the massive table. In the past the table had been made out of a particular kind of wood known for its strength and the fact it was as clear as glass. It wasn't very durable, though, necessitating a new one nearly every meeting. It had soon proven unsustainable, and the organisers – humans, currently without a representation – simply gave up and defaulted to a generic manufactured material that would last hundreds of years, even in the vacuum of space. It would need that durability, given the amount of abuse the tables went through – from slammed fists to all-out brawls between international delegates.

“Is everyone here, or are we do expect more... arrivals?” It was Arthur that spoke from the front of the room, his own leader and entourage eyeing up the Prussians nervously, along with the rest of the room. It was such a shame Arthur had been neutered by internal conflict and strife, the many worlds under his belt trying to throw their weight around and the Irish and Scottish alike making breaks for freedom. He might have been a decent ally of Gilbert's, but he wasn't about to associate himself with an empire that could only barely keep himself together. He had his own issues, after all.

“Hellas isn't planning on coming, so don't worry about them,” the French Republic said from across the room, barely glancing up from his tablet, a long lock of blond hair tucked behind his ear. Upon reaching the stars Greece seemed to destabilise, ancient grudges long-forgotten nearly ripping the nation and the man himself apart. Each year that passed seemed to reveal a new power struggle and a new government, leading to a new personality. It was better – and easier – to simply refer to him as 'them'.

“When have they ever come?” Gilbert asked with a snort, crossing one leg over the other. The rest of the room looked at him nervously, including his leader.

Arthur rolled his eyes, ignoring the tension that was almost palpable. “Any others?” Across the table the American Federation was practically shaking with pent-up energy. These days he was no longer one of the youngest states, but he still seemed to wear a youthful exuberance that was a thin veneer over his dangerous enthusiasm for political machinations. A long time ago, Gilbert remembered reading a book that immediately came to mind upon considering Alfred's nature: His eyes were full of money.

There was a long moment of silence as the assembled nations glanced around, the German Union's blue eyes softer than they had been in a long time. Such a shame.

“...America, I do believe you were the one to summon us?” The rest of the nations nodded, and Prussia's king glanced at him questioningly. He gave a short, clipped smile back. Arthur managed to step off the little podium before the blond barged his way up there with quick strides. Gilbert had actually forgotten how imposing he could be, the too-earnest grin sending shudders down his spine. Apparently the Briton shared his feelings, green eyes cast downwards and his legendary eyebrows furrowed in bitter anger. Ah, how it must feel to be buried under the greatness of one's former subject.

 _Hypocrite_ , a section of his mind told him. He ignored it.

“So,” the American started, waving a hand to flick off the lights and turn on the holographic projection that dominated the centre of the table, washing the room with an empty, soft blue light. Red eyes did a quick scan of the other faces assembled there; Russia and China were looking vaguely interested, the Vatican looked thoroughly unimpressed. Poland was there, surprisingly, sitting to the right of Switzerland, who was next to a nation Gilbert recognised to be Palestine. Wasn't he still at war with Israel? Probably. His attention was redrawn to the projection, though, as Alfred began to speak.

“I'm assuming you're all familiar with our own galaxy, yeah?” He laughed, a delightful sound. The rest of the room was silent as they waited for him to continue. Rolling his eyes, the blond flicked his fingers and the blue light turned black, and the three dimensional image of the Milky Way sat gently turning in it's own little simulated space.  
“Now, we've been spreadin' throughout the Milky Way for 'bout four hundred years now, and despite our calculations we've been the only thing here, 'sides microbial populations and the Europian sealife.”

There was the unique sound of dozens of eyebrows being quirked upwards simultaneously.

“...Don't give me that look! The reason why my government and I have brought you all here is that we _might_ have found something.” The blond spread his fingers and tapped the air, and the image of the galaxy zoomed back and out, until it was just a little figment in the black sea of space.  
  
“About a year ago, one of my outposts heard, uh, something.” Little representations of sound – perhaps radio? – waves manifested out of the area around the galaxy. “...Outpost 85-Beta-Sigma, precisely.” That would explain it. For the past three hundred years that particular outpost had been beaming signals into the expanse of space, and there had been a controversy just a while back about the fact the Americans had been doing experiments into communication and tracking during FTL Jumps using the base. Russia's eyes, in particular, narrowed.

“...And what did you hear?” Ivan asked quietly and too-gently, drumming his fingers on the table a bit too loud for comfort. “How do you know it wasn't background radiation, or...?” The implication was clear, and it was not subtle how many of the other nations leaned forward to hear the answer, their eyes trained on Alfred's face. Not everyone was happy with being spied upon

Alfred frowned. “It is... well-known that Outpost 85 is on the very outskirts of our galaxy, and is the most remote outposts there is.” As he spoke, the projection zoomed in on the location of the station, showing mostly-meaningless statistics about its existence in general. “The transmission that we received came from outside the human sphere of radioactive projections. And the signature is old. _Very_ old.” He straightened his back. “The quality has degraded to the point that it took months and a freak review to realise it wasn't just background echoes. For reference--” Alfred waved his hand and brought up a visualisation of the sound of a supernova. “This was produced about ten million years ago, but we can still see the telltale signature, right?” He flicked his wrist, and a different sound was shown, the line and colours that made up the graph-like picture nearly invisible.

“I don't see what you're getting at. It's likely it's just a quasar, or something,” Arthur piped in.

“Shut up,” came the reply from Gilbert, earning a glare from both the Briton and his own king. “I want to know where he's going with this.”

The American huffed visibly and nodded. “Thank you. We didn't know what we were seeing until we decided to analyse it. It's a pretty weird transmission, isn't it? That's what we thought, so we ran it through a couple filters to try and clean it up. You might want to prepare yourselves,” he said with a laugh, pressing a finger into the holographic projection.

There was a moment of confused silence, and Arthur's mouth opened to complain before _it_ started. It could barely be considered a sound, being more like a force and a drill slamming right into one's skull. To say it would be loud was an understatement, the human delegates seemingly crumpling in on themselves and the nations struggling to maintain composure. It seemed to taper off before returning at full force, and then repeating, the noise itself an assault on the mind and body. It was abruptly turned off by Alfred, who was visibly sweating and trembling ever-so-slightly, his hands nervously knitting together.

“Uh, sorry about tha-” He didn't even have a chance to apologise before the assembled nations and their delegates exploded into accusatory screaming and fist-pounding, the poor table being abused once more.

It took a good few minutes for the room to calm down, all the while Gilbert sat back and exhaled through clenched teeth.

“...Thank you,” Alfred continued after everyone had settled into a begrudging silence. “As you could hear, the signal was a repeating transmission of high pitch and volume. We have come to theorise this was an SOS message. As I said before, the transmission itself is old. We're talking 'the verge of the observable universe' old. We're certain it's come from the Sloan Great Wall-”

“Are you saying it's _over a billion years old?_ ” came the incredulous cry from Ivan, who's own delegates were whispering among themselves hurriedly.

Alfred nodded, and continued. “We've been developing new technologies over the past few decades, which has allowed us to narrow in on where the transmission came from, to a few systems within one of the closer Galactic Clusters. It's _incredibly_ unlikely that the chances would ever come to us to experience this. The odds just don't come around, statistically, _ever._ Which brings me to the reason why I've gathered you all here;

“My government and I propose an expedition to these systems, in a joint venture for the betterment of the human species. The price will be high for all involved, of course, as we're expecting the initial expedition to last for at least ten years, and the price for all involved will, unfortunately, likely run into the _thousands of trillions_. But all of this is, in our opinion, a small matter when one considers that this is the closest thing to extraterrestrial intelligent life humanity has ever experienced.

“We are putting this proposal forward with the hope that we can put aside old grudges and assume nothing else but the title of _Earthborn_ for the duration of this venture.”

Alfred finally stopped speaking and stepped back, looking expectantly about the room, which was consumed in an unbearably loud silence, several mouths hanging open in disbelief. They seemed to be in shock.

“...Nobody?” Alfred's voice was a callback to the anxious and scared rebellious boy Gilbert had once hardened with sweat and steel in a time long forgotten. The silence was a resounding answer to his proposal, and the man's face hardened defensively.

“Alright. Is there anything else someone would like to discuss?” With a dismissive wave of his hand, the holographic display flickering out and the lights returning to illuminate the room. There was silence once more before Japan, previously sitting quietly in the corner of the room, along with his dual emperor-prime minister, raised his hand.

“I would like to discuss some things, Mister America.”

The rest of the meeting was like that, tensions so strained you could cut it with a harsh exhale, attention returning to the American assembly when the speaker paused for too long. Perhaps it had simply been too soon to introduce the idea of intelligent extraterrestrial life to a group of people that had long-lost the dream of life beyond the stars. The fish Europa were hardly intelligent or highly evolved, after all.

However, Gilbert was intrigued. Since the German Succession, he had very few systems to call his own, the vast majority of his population inhabiting great ships that both acted as mobile cities and fortresses against any and all foes. The 'Prussian Empire' was smaller than even the Baltic Union, but his massive fleet easily matched Alfred's own, if not surpassed it in both strength and number.

 _Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far._ Hadn't one of Alfred's bosses once said that?

These days the galaxy was crowded, not in population but in the idea that in the early spacefaring days the new faster than light technology allowed those capable to swallow up vast swathes of space extremely quickly. Many former-African nations didn't seem to understand the irony. Those that broke away afterwards, such as Gilbert himself, had to struggle for space and their right to exist. With his many fleets and political isolation, perhaps it would be advantageous to investigate the options available to him.

When he presented this to his boss, however, he was immediately met with resistance.

“Why would you even think about that?” His boss was grey-haired and deep-faced, his eyes crinkling as he squinted. It was a rather unpleasant look.

“Our armside has been secured since the alliance with--” _Ludwig._ “--the German Union. And to our centerside we have Hungary, no?” Ludwig had taken the brunt of the Secession, a great deal of his spaceborne population determined in forming their own state – one way or another. It was relieving to be able to relax the strict martial law that had ruled the armside systems during the breakaway. 

“We can't give up that much time or that many people and ships, you know this.” The words were barely hissed, so the others could not hear their discussion.

“The GU won't initiate anything, and we do not have anything to offer Hungary. And a decade is nothing to us, you know this.” The king's expression soured at the cocky smirk his nation wore.

“I will... Think about it.”

Gilbert resisted the snarky reply that immediately came to mind and simply nodded, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, one ankle placed atop the other knee casually. His eyes, usually attentive, were glazed over in thought, in consideration.

The title of 'Earthborn' was not an unattractive one, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References! 
> 
> \- "His eyes were full of money.": The Great Gatsby
> 
> -"Europian sealife": It is believed that Jupiter's moon Europa is likely to hold life.
> 
> -"Speak softly and carry a big stick": original quote by U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt


	2. 2 - Bastardry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also known as: "The Art of Being a Bastard", something which Gilbert's universe apparently holds in high demand, because he seems to be surrounded by it.
> 
> And if you can't beat 'em, you might as well join 'em.

It had taken around an hour for the meeting to adjourn, after various discussions and debates about things that really didn't matter in the long run. Gilbert knew that his king was expecting him to forget about the idea of the trip to the furthest reaches of the universe. His king was not in power for his intelligence, after all.

The Prussian assemblage had taken over a smaller room while they waited for their turn to Jump away from the station, the process of moving ships faster than light being a very careful and precise science. Jumps had to be carefully timed in relation to the distance they were travelling, and the size or amount of ships going through in the first place. In the past, there had been experiments where two ships going opposite directions Jumped at the same time, and the results had not been pretty.

Some of the officers had taken up talking among themselves, which Gilbert didn't mind all that much, for they were no longer putting on the authoritative persona the Prussians had been famed for.

“Your Majesty?” the albino prompted, not glancing up from the thin screen he held in his hands, a thumb swiping through the information displayed, mostly news and the economy. It was old fashioned, yes, but he liked feeling the solid mass in his hands.

“Hm?” The king did not even look up from what he was reading on his own screen, which was significantly fancier than Gilbert's own.

“Have you considered America's idea?”

“Nagging me is not going to make me decide quicker.” If it wasn't against every fibre of his very being, Gilbert probably would have strangled his monarch. Maybe he could endorse it to his political opponents.

“I don't understand why you oppose it. We're politically stable–” Gilbert nearly burst out laughing, but managed to keep a straight face. “–economically stable, and doing this will put us ahead of everyone else, in addition to forming an alliance with one of the most powerful nations.” And that was just off the top of his head.

The king's expression only deepened, giving the impression of a baby having just bitten into a lemon, mixed with the expression of an unamused diabetic bulldog.

“...Why don't you go talk to America and get more information, hm?” Gilbert felt himself twitch. If there was one thing he hated more than anything about his leader, it was the fact he was a patronising twit towards his own kingdom.

Removing his feet from the table they had been resting on, the nation audibly huffed and rose to his feet, shutting off the tablet and sliding it shut, slipping it inside his jacket. He waved down the officers who rose to go with him, rolling his eyes as he slipped out of the room, straightening his uniform and scratching the back of his calf with a toe of his boot.

The hallway was lined with limp flags hanging from poles positioned outside their respective doors. It was a rather uninspired show of patriotism, in his own opinion. It only took a few seconds for him to locate Alfred's room, but it took almost a full minute to get through the guards and request that he talk to Alfred privately, much to his annoyance.

The blond stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him with a kick, giving the albino a light laugh.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Alfred said with a sheepish grin as he waved for the elder nation to follow him as he strode down the hallway, an excited little skip in his step. The Prussian did not appreciate being expected to follow like some sort of dog, but he bit back his complaint.

“My apologies for not speaking up during the meeting,” Gilbert replied curtly, neatly folding his arms behind his back and carefully choosing his words. He doubted that there wouldn't be any sort of listening devices placed around the station. Any self-respecting nation would jump at the chance to get an advantage over their neighbours. “...Is there some place private we could talk without interference?”

The blond nodded and turned a corner, continuing to glance over his shoulder. “Nah, I understand! It's a pretty radical thing to suggest, honestly. C'mon, just in here–” He turned into a little room and held the door for Gilbert to enter, who immediately scanned the room. It was a habit developed from having a system of government where any unfamiliar room could hold threats intending to dispose of his monarch at the time.

“You mind?” He pulled a device out of his pocket, around the size of a pen. It was a short-range EMP, something that came extremely handy when one didn't want to be listened-in on. The line between paranoia and intuition was only defined by whether things went right or not, and Gilbert would prefer to be paranoid than give any potential enemies an advantage.

“Go ahead.” Alfred pulled out one of the chairs and slid in, a reassuring grin spreading across his face. It was bright and earnest, and as Gilbert clicked on the little machine he couldn't help but understand why people trusted him, why people let him ascend into supremacy.

Sitting down, the albino pulled out his tablet and flipped it open, pulling up some notes he had created earlier and sliding it across to the American. “I want in on the expedition, but my boss isn't convinced. What are the terms you're proposing? He doesn't want to leave himself vulnerable, I'm sure you understand.” He briefly rolled his eyes to convey his annoyance, and the other nation simply laughed, glancing at the screen.

“As I mentioned, it's gonna take a lot of resources, but with you...? With your fleet, I think my boss would be willing to supply all the Helium-3 we could possibly need.” Gilbert's eyebrow twitched upwards as he leaned back in his own seat, fingers knitting together as he gazed at Alfred curiously.

“I'm honoured.” His words were dry, but they were honest. Helium-3 was not the most common thing in the galaxy, but it _was_ one of the most efficient power sources.

“...A Jump of a billion light years would require a lot of it, though, regardless of how much of my fleet I donate.” He briefly fluttered his lashes before giving a barking laugh. “I know you're trying to flatter me, Al, but there has to be some fine text. What do you want, and what do you have to offer.” It was not a question.

“Straight to the point, as always. Sometimes I forget that Ludwig got his anal retentiveness from you.”

“I take offense to that.” He didn't, but playing along with the banter was important in political machinations.

“I'm sure you do. But what I want? I want to know more. My boss wants power. My people want both.” Gilbert knew the lie well. Sometimes it was just easier to play along.

“I can offer you the Third Fleet, including the _Zeitgeist_ and _Barbarossa_.” It was not a small offer, the Prussians being notorious for their destroyers, having bastardised them from the German Union's old ships and rearming themselves to the teeth. Power weapons were becoming more and more popular among the superpowers, but the Prussians stood firm on their speciality of kinetic weapons and using them to a devastating affect.

“I want the _Götterdämmerung_ ,” came the immediate reply. Ah, so he was finally luring Alfred into proper discussion. Now he was getting there. The _Götterdämmerung_ was probably the worst-kept secret in the galaxy: the single greatest war machine humanity had ever seen. Why did Alfred want it for a peaceful expedition in the name of science, though? He had no idea.

“And I want assurance that my galactic holdings will be secure for the duration of the expedition,” Gilbert replied. They both knew that a commitment such as this from an empire who's power was predominantly off-world was dangerous. Alfred had control over a great many systems in the neighbouring galactic arm, which wasn't too far away with all things considered.

“Done. See? There's no reason why we can't get along perfectly.” Again, he gave that bright and reassuring smile, and Gilbert found a weaker part of himself wanting to give in. Alfred had that affect on people.

The albino rolled his eyes and leaned forward to swipe his finger across the screen of the tablet, gesturing to the information displayed.

“I ran some data. We're going to need your ion drives _and_ your Helium-3 if we want to make a Jump that long and not be sitting ducks for a week afterwards. My fleet, especially the _Götterdämmerung,_ are not made for that kind of distance.” To reach faster-than-light required an immense amount of energy to quite literally rip open a hole in the fabric of space-time and get through before it collapsed in on itself. The larger the amount of mass going through, the more energy was required. That was why Helium-3 was so prized, and why a decent amount of it could bankrupt whole worlds.

He who controlled the Helium-3 controlled the universe.

And, fortunately, Alfred was that man.

Alfred gazed at the stats behind thin spectacles, the bridge taped up. Texas had gone for independence, and had failed. “This is doable.” He said it with a cocky grin and gave the Prussian a thumbs-up.

“So,” he continued, sliding the tablet back over, “You think you'll be able to convince your king? He seems pretty stubborn.” The blond had leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, gazing at the other curiously.

“I think my people will want the same as yours. He may be the king, but he must pay attention to his subjects... And I have my own sphere of influence, of course,” he said with a laugh, giving the other what could be interpreted as a cheeky wink. Gilbert was not very good at being 'playful'.

“You're gonna kill 'im?” _Clever boy._

“I wouldn't go that far. Just a little... Persuasion.” Gilbert had no problems talking about his boss like this. He had only been in power for a few years now, having disposed of the last king in a fairly unimpressive coup. At least Alfred got to have elections.

“It's good to hear that you want to participate, Gilbert. I... Was worried back there. Besides you, only Ivan has come up to me bitching about 85-Beta-Sigma and about 'spying' and all that stuff.” Even after hundreds of years of being on-and-off allies-enemies, it continued to surprise the Prussian how well Alfred could pull of a pout.

“Hey, you know me. 'Let's see what'll happen if we whack orion drives onto our flagships!' Always up for an adventure.” The Orion Project had not ended very well, but any reasonable person would realise that repeatedly nuking space was not a very good idea in the first place. The Prussians were renowned for their militaristic capabilities, not their ecological concerns.

Alfred chuckled and rubbed at his nose with a finger, visibly amused at the memory of Gilbert's people simultaneously breaking at least eight different international galactic laws at once.

“...You know I couldn't do this without you, right?”

“If you're trying to butter me up, at least be a little less obvious about it.” Gilbert found himself grinning as crossed one leg over the other. “But do go on.”

“Hey, I'm being honest!” _Sure you are,_ came the commentary from the back of his mind. “We don't know what's out there. Whatever sent that message is roughly a billion years older than us– can you imagine how advanced they are? How much they could teach us?” Ah, there was the childlike wonder in Alfred's blue, blue eyes. The albino would compare them to the colour of Earth's old sky, but truth be told he barely remembered a time when it was that exact shade of endless blue.

“This is assuming there _is_ anything left out there. The SOS seemed pretty urgent.” He wasn't going to pretend he was eager to meet any aliens. If he did, he would probably just wipe them out anyway to avoid dealing with them. Cruel? Yes. Practical? Even more so.

“Don't be a killjoy, man. Imagine what we could learn! Convergent, divergent evolution! Technology that we can't even begin to imagine!” _Power_ that we can't begin to imagine, corrected Gilbert's internal monologue, but he chose not to verbalise it.

“I never said I didn't agree with you, I'm just doubting that any civilisation would last that long.” He paused. “We'll see, though, won't we? Assuming my boss allows it, of course.” He couldn't help the souring of his tone, and he was aware of the slight curious tilt to Alfred's head.

“...Is there anything else you want to talk about?” The query was more a gentle prod than a question as Alfred leaned forward and placed a hand on the Prussian's sleeve. Gilbert found it curious that he didn't wear gloves, but he reminded himself that not every nation was extremely militaristic and had a habit of being under martial leadership. “...Speaking of which, what did you do to your eyes?”

The question took him off-guard, and he blinked in confusion for a moment, instinctively pulling away. “Just little modifications, yeah? Specifics are confidential, I'm sure you understand.” The specifics weren't all that complicated, though; just little biomechanics inserted into his eyes and connected to his brain for near-telescopic vision, a compensation for his natural deficiency as an albino. It had hurt like a bitch for the first month or two, but his body had soon adjusted, simply leaving him with the occasional migraine from overstimulation.

Alfred laughed, a bright and ringing sound that easily filled the little room, his own eyes lighting up in amusement. “I understand, don't worry.” He briefly glanced at the watch adorning his wrist, blond brows shooting up. “When's your Jump, again?”

“After Poland heads off–”

“I'm surprised he's managed to last this long.”

“We all are. Apparently he's got an _arrangement_ with Eliza, if you catch my meaning. That might be why my king is having issues, actually,” Gilbert added on, as if the thought just came to him. Which it did, but he was not about to admit that to anyone.

“You can tell your boss that if he agrees, I can guarantee your security.” Alfred said it with a wink, and Gilbert wasn't sure whether to punch him or swoon.

_Bastard._

The Prussian considered both options but soon disregarded them. He would rather not piss off the other superpower, and he had a reputation to uphold. The crusher of worlds and harbinger of destruction did not _swoon_ for anything other than an exceptional level of firepower.

“I... Thank you. I think that's all, yeah? If this goes forward, we can discuss the details later.” He reached and grabbed the little EMP and pressed a button on the side, the light flicking off with a minute _click_ , soon returning it to his jacket, along with the tablet. The tablet was a wonderful piece of machinery, electronics that weren't affected by the magnetic disturbance the EMP created being incredibly hard to manufacture. Gilbert didn't understand how it was done, but he didn't particularly care as long as it continued to work.

Alfred grinned again, showing off too-white teeth. Were those natural? Probably not, but it was not exactly polite to ask. “No problems! You give me the go-ahead and I'll give you the documents and we'll be on our way!” Gilbert was fairly sure he could compare Alfred's smile to a super massive black hole, but in the way that it absorbed all light and in turn reflected it with such intensity that it could light up a room.

That was a weird thought.

Nodding in thanks to the American, Gilbert rose to his feet and straightened his uniform, soon sending Alfred a hopefully-warm smile and turning on his heel, leaving the room with quick and long strides, nearly barging over the guards outside along the way. He didn't bother to apologise, instead heading immediately back down the hall to where his limp flag hung in the dry air-conditioned atmosphere of the station. The organisers could have made an effort to make the space habitable, but apparently they were too busy for that.

As he entered, the officers jerked to their feet and saluted in quick, sharp movements, eyes trained exactly ahead out of respect and fear in equal amounts. Gilbert rolled his eyes and waved them down in mimicry of how he had done so earlier, sliding into his own chair and once again swinging his legs onto the table, legs crossed at the ankle.

Appropriately, his king looked intimidated.

“...What did he have to say?”

Gilbert's explanation took quite a few minutes, and was frequently interrupted by his leader, much to his annoyance. There were debates and small arguments, and during the whole thing the accompanying officers remained dutifully silent, their eyes directed towards the ceiling in order to avoid being caught in the crossfire. It was getting quite heated, after all.

This was why he didn't like this king. He was spineless, except for when it came to his own pride. Stubborn and arrogant, Gilbert was tempted to literally force the information through his little pig-headed mind, the one that had barely been able to seize control in the first place. _No._ No. He was coming around anyway, through the process of fist-thumping and voice-raising, combined with carefully practised glares placed at strategic times.

“...I am still not happy with this,” the king eventually conceded, crossing his arms. The monarch was not an old man, but the way he crumpled his face made him seem far beyond his years. It was not attractive at all.

“You don't have to be. You just have to agree.” The Prussian Empire maintained his impassive expression of calm determination.

“...Fine. You're a bastard.”

“I am aware of this.”

There was a long, awkward silence in the room, and the sound of feet being shuffled as cool red eyes met wrinkled black ones in an unspoken battle of wills. Unfortunately for the king, Gilbert was very good at these sorts of things.

Nervously, one of the younger officers glanced between the two elder men, his fingers tugging at his tie. He was dressed similarly to the rest of them, but lacked the medals and ranks they bore on their shoulders and chests. Jacob, wasn't it?

“Sirs– I believe–” He paused, shrinking now that he had the attention of the two most powerful men in the empire. “...I think it's time for our Jump, right? We, uh, don't want to be late– ”

“Thank you, Darwin. Shall we?” He directed a sickly sweet grin at his king, who practically fumed as he rose and exited, flanked by hurried officers, Jacob included. The trip back to the flagship was uneventful, aside from being sprayed down to assure that foreign contaminants could not enter the ship.

 _Fahne_ -class ships were slick and dagger-like, but they stood proud against the emptiness of space, black-and-gold eagles emblazoned across their front and lines painted to emphasise the sharpness. The _Elbe_ was unique in the way it was gilded with bright red and gold, as extravagant as one would expect for a ship carrying the king.

As they entered and the airlock sealed behind them, men saluted before they were promptly dismissed. There was work to do, and a Jump to get through. As he made his way to the bridge, Gilbert could feet his boots attaching themselves magnetically to the floor, forcing his legs to work harder in order to keep up his normal walking speed. The larger ships had their own systems of gravity simulation, but the higher-ups had decided that it wasn't necessary for the smaller ones.

He justified it to himself by reasoning it helped keep the crew in shape.

The inside of the ship was relatively Spartan, a cool temperature maintained to make sure all the electronics were functioning at optimum efficiency, a gentle thrum in the background indicating the engines within the bowels of the ship were doing their job.

“ _All crew report to stations and prepare for Jump_ ,” came the order over the speakers, the screens lining the walls flashing orders in bright colours.

The bridge was a surprisingly simple affair in Gilbert's opinion, but it was bustling with people; technicians, and officers mingling as they found their respective places – mostly in little cubicles, some of the higher ranking men got to sit on a raised platform, such as Gilbert was – and the lights above dimmed to allow everyone to properly see their workstations, which were all backlit and displaying probably-important information.

“ _Jump in T-minus two minutes.”_ As the announcer spoke, the whole ship rumbled as the engines powered up. Massive screens dominated the front wall and the ceiling of the bridge flickered on to reveal what was going on outside, little cameras showing the _Elbe_ being flanked by two escort ships. Glass was incredibly hard to keep from imploding when reaching high speeds, and that wouldn't be very nice for anyone.

The two escort ships moved to either side of the _Elbe_ and the way they were preparing for faster-than-light was immediately visible: Great heat-shields folded out and locked in front of the ships – which were considerably bulkier than the _Fahne_ -class – and Gilbert felt faint shudders through the floor; the _Elbe_ obviously doing something similar.

“ _Cutting video, Jump in T-minus ten seconds.”_

He leaned back in his chair, glancing at the dozens of mortals about the bridge, sitting about without any sign of fear. _Bastards._ They had probably done this hundreds, maybe thousands of times throughout their entire lives and were probably comfortable with the whole thing. Gilbert still didn't particularly like thinking about the idea of tearing apart the fabric of the universe.

It had never really been that high on his agenda, honestly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference time! -
> 
> "Helium-3" - An actual thing, and a great energy source, as described.
> 
> "Götterdämmerung" - "Twilight of the Gods", the German mis-translation of "Ragnarök", the Norse apocalypse. Inspired by the warship of the same name in the movie "Iron Sky".
> 
> "He who controlled the Helium-3 controlled the universe." - reference to Dune, original quote was "He who controls the Spice controls the universe!".
> 
> “I'm surprised he's managed to last this long.” - Kind of an oblique reference to the comic series "Polandball", in which Poland is incapable of reaching space, popularised by the phrase "Polan cannot into space".
> 
> "Fahne" - A German term meaning "flag" or "banner".


	3. 3 - B-Mashina Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We raise our hands and bodies to the peak  
> Into the Universe - towards the stars we go;  
> Sending machines up to the sky."
> 
> Laibach - B-Mashina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it's been so long, I've been overseas and my power went out because a massive storm is coming through. This chapter is going to be split into two, and I'll get part two finished soon. All notes, references, comments, ect. will be addressed at the end of that one! Thank you all for your patience! (No, I don't know how to get rid of the notes from Ch. 1 at the bottom-- Any ideas?))

 

“So are you excited or what?” For the past eight months or so, Alfred had been incessant in asking that exact question, be it in person or through telecommunications.

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling of the bridge they were standing in, Gilbert replied with a carefully-constructed amount of annoyance enough to get his point through, while making sure that it was polite. “I wouldn't say excited. Nervous about being erased from existence, maybe. But not excited.”

The blond simply pouted and crossed his arms, the white of his dress uniform accenting his hair and the blue of his eyes nicely. It also contrasted Gilbert's own uniform, a fancy assemble of black and gold piping, complete with a peaked cap. It was significantly more formal than the one he wore to the Conference, and significantly more intimidating.

“C'mon dude, you know our guys have been working on this for ages, nothing is going to go wrong!” Gilbert wished he shared the other's confidence as he watched the men scurry about the bridge, the lights and machines flicking and grumbling softly. It was much larger bridge than the one of the _Elbe_ , reflecting the fact that the spacecraft they were on was several magnitudes larger than the little flagship.

That being said, the  _Visitor_ was not nearly as big as the other ships that made up the armada, some being quite literal flying cities, fully independent and self-sufficient. The difference between his and Alfred's ships were quite noticeable, his own were incredibly bulky while Alfred's were sleek. Despite this, they had all been branded with the sigil of their union; two black eagles joined at outstretched talons, surrounded by a wreath of stylized stars.

The  _Visitor_ was also more high-tech than the  _Elbe_ , the screens displaying the outside space positioned in such a way that they almost perfectly mimicked the nature of windows, complete with faint reflections of the viewer standing inside. It was here that Gilbert and Alfred were standing, half-turned so they could both watch the ships maneuver outside, preparing for the greatest Jump ever attempted.

Gilbert sighed and took off his cap, running a gloved hand through his hair, a habit he had picked up after his third king had been assassinated in as many months. “Are we ready to go soon?” He wasn't sure if he wanted an answer.

The other nation simply laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, his super strength nearly sending him stumbling against the screen-window. “No need to worry, seriously! Just because your king is a pussy – no offense – doesn't mean that my people are!”

Ah, yes, that was right. Gilbert's king refused to come along on the venture, claiming that he needed to retain control of the colonies, and simply left the elite generals in charge of the massive fleet the Prussians were contributing. Because that certainly inspired loyalty among the people.

In the end, he considered, Alfred had gotten what he wanted; several of the great destroyers along with the infamous  _ Götterdämmerung.  _ Hell, he even deployed the  _ Fridericus Rex. _ Sometimes historical revisionism was a wonderful thing.

“Your confidence is... Reassuring,” the Prussian replied dryly, replacing his hat and crossing his arms. In response, Alfred simply grinned and bowed, hands sweeping aside.

“It is my honour to be of service.” Gilbert was almost tempted to punt him across the room.

“ _All battalions are in position, waiting for carrier confirmation,”_ chimed a voice over the speakers, causing both of the men to glance upwards, the grin on Alfred's face only spreading, whereas the scowl on Gilbert's deepened. Of course, he was excited, but in the same way a man was when he was about to be pushed off a rather tall cliff with only a bungee rope around his ankles. Wasn't that originally a rite of passage? He was fairly sure a lot of those men got broken legs as a result.

Or maybe he was just being an old pessimist, just like how Arthur was. Was he really as much as a joy-kill as Arthur? Hopefully not. He had not fallen by the wayside in the ever-changing nature of international affairs these past few centuries, his colonies had not risen up beneath him and torn themselves away.

“What's wrong, old man?” Gilbert resisted the urge to punch Alfred.

“Just considering the chances of us ending up Smeared from here to wherever-the-hell we're going to end up.”

“That's charming,” came the laughed reply, which was almost interrupted by another announcement.

“ _Carriers confirmed. Operation Earthborn will commence in T-minus three minutes.”_ The voice over the speakers had the slightest tinny tone to it, the lack of inflection giving away it's nature as a computer generation. The Americans were leading the galaxy in advancement of artificial intelligence, and it was probably only because of that that the expedition was able to go forth, the amount of calculations necessary incomprehensible to the human mind.

“We should... Probably sit down, right?” Gilbert rolled his eyes at Alfred's question, but went and found his seat anyway. Nobody was sure what would happen in a Jump such as this. Would they succeed? Would they be Smeared? Would the hole in the universe simply collapse around them and erase them from existence?

For the first time in months, even Alfred looked a touch nervous, pushing his glasses up by the bridge.

Deep within the bowels of the ship, massive engines started to power up, Helium-3 already being consumed at an alarming rate, the ship hungry for more and more... The lights and screens flickered off, enshrouding the bridge in darkness aside from the flickering lights of the machines. The floor shuddered as the heat shields extended to protect the front of the ship, the  _ Visitor _ joining literally thousands of other ships as they prepared for the longest Jump humanity had ever attempted.

Gilbert inhaled and closed his eyes, feeling his seat automatically meld to his form for the most comfort. It did not help his anxiety in the slightest.

And then, they Jumped.

The breath left his lungs as sound filled his mind, both from the screaming of the engines and the wrenching of the fabric of space-time.

All Jumps were technically instantaneous, but they were drawn into seconds and minutes and  _ years _ as the massive fleet forced it's way through the hole it had created, all of existence dropping away into eternity, the infinite blackness of the universe swallowed by forces more powerful than the rogue black holes that feed on stars and galaxies and everything in between.

The inexistence of hyperspace was mind-numbingly cold, cold to the point where the space simply  _ could not exist _ within the nature of the universe as humanity was aware of it. Gilbert was burning, though, the amount of energy coursing through the ship causing fire in his lungs and liquid ash in his bones, and even through his closed eyes the walls of the  _ Visitor _ burned with such heat that they were as bright as the sun through a powerful telescope, and he could feel the floor on which his feet rested liquefying into molten metal, consuming him completely.

Beyond hyperspace there was death, a cold oblivion where everything ceased to exist, and the person experiencing it was stuck screaming into the void, which didn't even deign to scream back.

That kind of death was momentary, only even existing for a fraction of a millisecond, but this Jump was stretching on, and on ,

and

on

an d he could feel the angels hurling him down

and th ere was

no

 

go d

 

a nd t he r e

w as

 

on l y

 

 

li  _ g  _

_      h _

 

_          t _

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. 3 - B-Mashina Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Our souls are from the wild  
> and wings to reach the sky  
> let the sun fall into the ocean,  
> let the earth erupt in flame  
> It is enough to have the strength  
> and knowledge  
> to raise our dream machines  
> into the sky."  
> \- B-Mashina, Laibach

“ _...nfirmation...”_

It was dark, too quiet. Too cold, hairs on his arms standing up. Brain waking up, old lizard raising it's head. Fish out of water taking it's first breath. Eaten by bigger fish.

“ _...waiting... confirmation...”_

Beeping. Hum of not-people. Machines were talking, far ahead of actual people.

“ _...Operating systems online...” ~~  
~~_

Gilbert – was that his name? It felt familiar in his slow, too-slow brain – felt blood pumping through the delicate capillaries in his ears. He was alive. That was not saying much, for nations could not die in the conventional methods. For all he knew, he could be floating in a wreckage in the depths of space.

 _You've gotten yourself Smeared. Good job._ He didn't want to open his eyes, nor take a breath. The little annoying voice in the back of his head was prodding at him. His lizard-brain lazily swatted it away.

To be Smeared, that was a horrible fate. It was the result of miscalculating a Jump and the resources required for it. Even though the trip through hyperspace was a very quick one, if the energy output faltered even briefly, all the travelers caught within the Rip were, well, _Smeared_ across path they were going, completely atomised and reduced to particles of matter that, from a distance, resembled a faint grey blur on the blackness of space stretching from one place to another.

The first Smear was observed after one of the first Jumps to Jupiter, visible even from Earth. As the cloud of matter was absorbed into the orbits of Mars and Jupiter and the asteroid belt, it remained poignant in the memory of humanity.

That didn't explain the computers, the beeping.

“ _Operating systems online. Awaiting confirmation via user input.”_

He inhaled, slowly, filling his lungs with precious oxygen. So the life-support systems were working. That was good; it probably meant that the thousands of humans on board were probably alive.

Probably.

With agonising slowness, he started to crack open his eyes. It wasn't painful in the slightest, but his body wanted him to go back to unconsciousness, go back to where he wasn't floating in the depths of space in a metal tin can that could become his coffin.

It was dark in the bridge, far darker than immediately before the Jump, before all his senses had been assaulted with the very notion of nonexistence. A long, long time before even the first satellite broke through the atmosphere, he had been confronted with a similar dilemma.

He disliked revisiting those days of weakness and pain and the taste of cyanide on his tongue.

Gilbert's eyes slowly glanced about the bridge, taking in the slumped figures of the mortals, their backs rising and falling slowly. Deep sleep, his brain helpfully supplied.

“ _Operating systems online. Awaiting confirmation via user input.”_

“DV, status of life-support systems?” It never hurt to ask, but even those simple words made his dry throat ache and his tongue heavy. His lips felt chapped in the cool air conditioning, the artificial atmosphere lacking moisture and humidity.

“ _Life-support is working at ninety-five-point-oh-seven percent technical capacity, sar.”_ 'Drection-05', commonly nicknamed 'DV' was one of the most advanced AIs in the galaxy. It weirded Gilbert out sometimes, but most others thought – understandably – that it was a godsend. The slightest hint of the American dialect was audible, but not so much that it annoyed him.

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he sat forward with a soft groan, his chair once more morphing to the position of his body. This time, it was far more comforting.

“...D-rection,” he said, slowly, enunciating the word to make sure the computer knew he was referring to it, rather than a physical direction, “...Was the Jump successful? Status of the fleets?” He didn't look up, instead cradling his head in his hands and hissing through his teeth at the sharp, stabbing pain shooting through his temples.

“ _Jump was successful. Systems were briefly compromised, but have since been rebooted. All fleets are at operational standard, sar.”_ The words were metallic and clipped, but intensely polite. Gilbert didn't like AIs. They were too human, but not quite to the point where mathematics could pass off true human nature.

He glanced about the bridge without moving his head, trying not to aggravate his pounding migraine. “Why is everyone asleep?”

“ _During the Jump exceptional circumstances forced me to alter the atmospheric composition in order to guarantee safety.”_ The words were chirped without any sort of emotion or guilt. Computers couldn't feel guilt.

“You _knocked us out?”_ Gilbert's voice rose to a point where every word sent another stab of pain through his head.

“ _It was necessary, sar. The others shall be waking up soon, I assure you. Mister Jones' heartbeat is picking up as we spea--”_

“...Davie, issat you?” Ah, yes, the strange nickname Alfred had given the machine, which had spread to the rest of the American operators. Gilbert didn't get it.

“'Bout time you woke up,” the albino joked to Alfred, finally turning his head to look at the other, who looked suitably hazy and unsteady. His hair was mussed up, and dark circles had bloomed under his eyes. Presumably, Gilbert thought, he bore the same marks, but they would probably show up more prominently against his skin.

The blond blinked slowly and rubbed at his eyes. “Are we... Are we there yet?” Somehow, the other managed to embody both the appearance of an excited child going to Earthland for the first time, and the weariness of a man stepping off a boat after some sort of great journey. Both were somewhat accurate, once he thought about it.

“ _Fleet is within two Earth-days of destination within the Sloan Great Wall, sar. Coordinates indicate that a single system is responsible for the transmission, so my course has been set there,”_ Drection explained quickly, as it probably knew that the two were incredibly disoriented.

As the AI spoke, people on the bridge started to wake up with the characteristic sluggishness that Gilbert was becoming familiar with.

“Ah, thank you Davie. Could you sent a message to the rest of the fleet – if they're awake,” he added with a mildly amused tone, “ – to rest up and make sure they're ready for when we're approaching the system?”

There was a momentary silence as the machine processed the request, and likely did as it was told. _“Of course, sar. Refreshments are available if necessary.”_ Drection was unbearably helpful at times, but Gilbert simply rolled his eyes and loosely waved a hand.

“Alright. Raise the lights, please,” he said, trying to stretch his back as best as possible, seeing Alfred out of the corner of his eye visibly wince as each vertebrae cracked in succession. They both flinched as light flooded into the bridge, waking the last of the bridge operators up with sudden jerks, followed by a collective groan.

Grinning cruelly to himself, Gilbert turned to address Alfred, who was still looking considerably frazzled. “Sleep well, princess?” _Schadenfreude_ had originally been a German term, after all.

“I should be asking you, you look like you've been hit by a truck,” came the tired reply accompanied by a sleepy smile. The light allowed him to properly see the lines of exhaustion that crossed Alfred's face, the slight glaze to his eyes. The Jump had obviously taken a lot of out him.

“I feel like it, honestly.” He tried a laugh, but it came out brittle and stretched, as dry as his lips and tongue.

Alfred gave him a smile, but the conversation slid to an uncomfortable end. It was an awkward moment as both of the men gazed around the bridge and observed the humans with mildly disinterested eyes.

“...Wanna go get some coffee?” The blond had barely posed the question when Gilbert interrupted him, immediately shooting to his feet and giving the other a tortured, pleading look.

“ _Please.”_

 

* * *

 

 

And so they walked through the warren of corridors, all of them bleeping information with bright lights that assaulted the eyes. They paid no attention, instead tossing banter between themselves with a hopeful sort of shared tone. The ship, being American, was unfamiliar to Gilbert, so he gladly let Alfred lead him through the spacecraft, apparently heading towards some sort of gathering point, if the mortals joining them indicated anything. The atmosphere – the figurative one, not the literal one, which remained dry and tasteless – was abuzz with talk and something he quickly identified as _hope._

They had made it through the Jump without being Smeared, and they were approaching their destination at a speed that would promise arrival within a bare few days. He and his companion were nations, and as only quasi-human beings they had recovered quicker than the average mortal, but Gilbert held no doubt that Alfred could feel the shared energy, the shared restlessness that their people felt as they realised their positions as the forerunners of greatness.

It made him feel young again.

And, somehow, they broke through the crowd that was blocking up a doorway, and Gilbert immediately felt cowed by the sheer _size_ of the room. The Prussians valued space and tried to cram every little bit they could into all available space. But the _Visitor_? It was one of the many American Super-Carrier Classes, built for thousands of people for any extended period of time.

People needed space, and so the designers had given it to them.

The room – a hall, really – was truly massive, tables and seats stretching out and beyond, stalls forming little semi-circles and their own personal cafeterias. The walls were lined with all manner of shelves and tables, television screens lined up and displaying and playing a dozen different things at once in a truly cacophonous assault of the senses. It was cramped, though, even the efficient air-conditioning unable to process the smell of food and coffee and the masses of humanity that had gathered to the hall. There were a few others spread strategically around the ship, but Gilbert had no doubt they were as cramped as this one.

That was because the tall, arching ceiling above simply did not exist to the human eye. Instead, it had been replaced with an unfamiliar sky full of unfamiliar stars, their dim lights glowing faintly against the blackness. Gilbert felt the breath in his lungs leave him as his eyes desperately searched for familiar constellations, the collections of stars that he felt pulsing within his veins so far away.

Alfred dragged him through the crowd and he couldn't stop his jaw from hanging open. Did he react like this during his first Jump away from Earth? No, surely not. For millennia humanity had been gazing at the stars above, they had seen them as protectors and guides on their travels through the world and through life itself.

These stars were alien and dead, a billion years burned away to leave massive scatters of lights that only twinkled because they were trying to cannibalise each other, siphoning power and energy in a last desperate display of cosmic vampirism. Gilbert knew this intimately; in absence of raw materiel from planets conquered he had commandeered nebulae and had seen even newborn stars commit interstellar fratricide.

It was beautiful and horrific in equal amounts to stare into the heavens and witness the inevitable entropy that would eventually consume even his home galaxy.

This space was already dead, though, leaving spatters of light across the vast black canvas. As Alfred forced him into a chair, an American squadron of fighters zipped past the screen, earning a cheer from the audience. Gilbert's brows twitched together as he forced the tiny machines in his eyes to focus on the empty space after the fly-by, and he nodded to himself once he spotted one of his own carriers far off in the distance.

Space was big, as was to be expected, so each craft was often dozens kilometres away from each other, even if they formed a fleet as massive as the one that was currently ploughing through uncharted space.

Alfred's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Dude, you right or what? I got you a steak.” The albino blinked to reset the augmentation to focus on the other man. He managed to force himself onto a chair sitting in front of a table, and Alfred mirrored him, arms full and grin broad.

“Real steak or that _Faque_ shit?” ' _Faque_ ' was the American artificial foodstuff producer that had been around since the beginning of long-distance space travel, and the name was pronounced in the same way 'fake' was. It was a fairly accurate description.

“Real stuff straight from the cow, what else?” Alfred grinned with utmost conviction, as if the rest of the mortals were not eating food synthesised from all sorts of matter that would be normally inedible under any circumstances. Nonetheless, Gilbert was eager to dig into the meat, wielding the knife and fork with graceful expertise. Alfred, meanwhile, sipped his coffee.

“You were hungry, eh?” The tone was light, conversational.

“Don't talk to me like I'm a dog,” Gilbert shot back after swallowing a mouthful, “I just refuse to eat _Faque_. I prefer our  _Ersatz._ ” Because if you're going to have be forced into eating things that barely classified as food, you might as well be patriotic about it. “Also, what gives me the right to have actual beef?”

The American smiled and rested his chin on his palm. It seemed that he didn't even notice the shifting masses of people around them, all jostling for space and for food and drink.

“I thought it would be nice for our first meal in a new galaxy to be something real. We've only got two days to adjust, right? We might even be able to fit in a trip to Earthland! We've got one of those!” Alfred's childish exuberance was possibly the most earnest thing he had ever seen.

Gilbert pushed the bare plate away and leaned back in his chair, brushing some lint off the ornate epaulets of his jacket. “I'm... Honoured.” He said that honestly, meeting Alfred's eyes and nodding to confirm that fact. Internally he slapped himself for being so emotionally constipated. No wonder Ludw-- the _German Union_ turned out the way he did.

“...May we go to Earthland?” He felt like an idiot for asking like a helpless child, but it was worth it to see Alfred's expression brighten to the point he nearly wanted to shield his eyes. He would say it was oddly heart-warming, but he wasn't the type of person to let his heart be warmed by some youngster.

That being said, it was pleasant to see someone _excited_ about life, rather than the wrinkled messes of scowls and furrowed brows that made up his leadership. Alfred seemed full of life, vibrant and unadulterated _hope_ that almost made him forget that he was currently dealing with one of the single most powerful nations in the Milky Way.

“Of course! We've got it down pat, so you couldn't even tell the difference between it and, well, Earth! The way it used to be before–-“ Alfred cut himself off. Those who remembered the way they left their home planet did not generally like to dwell on the condition in which they left it.

Nobody liked remembering those who were left behind.

Gilbert felt himself nodding and leaning back in his seat, unintentionally jostling the people behind him. Apologising faintly, he cast his gaze to the heavens above once more. The faint twinkling made his heart thump with a mix of terror and childlike wonder, not unlike what he felt when he was no more a boy working with the sick and wounded in a foreign desert, when he was searching for _something_ in the skies above. When he was dressed in the skin of wolves and his father told him about the wall of the gods stretched across the universe. When he united with himself after hard, long years, and gazed at the sky prepared to take what he wanted from it.

“You're doin' that hazy-eyed thing again, dude,” the other gently prodded, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but he didn't miss how Alfred gazed at him with an almost _fond_ expression.

Bastard.

“What? We only have two days before we get to the system! After that we gotta be serious and actually do our jobs!” The blond pouted and crossed his arms after setting his now-empty coffee cup down.

“We're _supposed_ to be doing our jobs now _._ ” The pout only increased in intensity.

“You're such a killjoy,” Alfred whined, similar to a petulant child. Gilbert idly picked up the cup and placed it onto the plate that his steak had been on, his instinctive drive for cleanliness an almost unstoppable compulsion.

“How so? I only said that's what we're supposed to be doing, but I want to go to Earthland. You're the one stalling."

There was a moment of silence between the two. They were still surrounded by an ever-increasing number of people that were packing into the mess hall, all of whom were yelling and chattering to each other in equal amounts, so the silence was more of a figurative thing. He waited while Alfred suspiciously searched his face. Ah, there was the superpower everyone knew and loved.

“You're saying that...”

“We can go now, yes. Everyone is probably in the other halls, so it should be fairly quiet.”

Alfred's face positively _bloomed_ into excitement, and Gilbert didn't even have time to respond before his wrist was grabbed and he was promptly dragged out of his seat, which was instantly filled.

And for that moment, as Alfred was pushing his way through the crowd and he felt a laugh leave his mouth, he felt almost human under the alien stars above.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this took a while! Sorry for this taking so long, I've been really busy with life and stuff, and this chapter was difficult to finish because it's the end of the set-up phase of this fic. There's a hell of a lot of foreshadowing in this part, but I'll let you all figure it out for yourself!  
> I've decided after much deliberation that this fic will be split into three major acts, each with their own arcs and the like. This is the end of the first art, and I've decided that I'm going to go back through and tweak things a little bit. I would recommend coming back regularly ~~to give me more pageviews~~ because descriptions and explanations of certain things might be changed/edited along the way. Hell, I might add in entire new paragraphs or something. It's a mystery.  
>  Another thing I should bring up is that I'm still not sure what the exact length of this project will be. I've got most of the plot sorted out, but I'm not sure how I'm going to organise it outside of the 'act' system. Would you guys prefer shorter, more frequent updates, or longer chapters? Shorter ones will, as I said, update more frequently but may lead to more disjointed plots/development. Longer ones will be more in-depth and be more complex, but might have filler and the like. At the moment, I'm aiming towards 3 chapters (discounting parts) each act, with an epilogue, but that might change depending on what you guys want.  
> And now for the notes!  
> Part 1:  
> \- "Fridericus Rex": Latin for "King Frederick", reference to Frederick the Great  
> -"B-Mashina": A song originally performed by the Slovenian band Siddhartha, but the one I have in mind while writing this is the Laibach cover, which was used in the movie "Iron Sky". The meaning itself of the "B-Machine" is believed to be the human brain, the driving force in progression of the species itself. I recommend both versions, as they are both equally applicable to this fic.  
> Part 2:  
> -"Davie": You all know what this is a reference to, but there's another level. In Isaac Asimov's novel "I, Robot" the characters would give the robots names based off their initials. In this case, "DV-01" becomes 'Dave', or 'Davie'.  
> -"Ersatz": German meaning 'replacement', originally used in context of food during WW1, where it was common for the German populace to mix sawdust with their limited supplies of bread. It wasn't very pleasant at all.  
> -"Earthland": Think Disneyland, but a vague approximation of Earth in general.  
> -"sick and wounded in a foreign desert": The Teutonic Knights were formed in the Holy Lands during the Crusades, and worked to protect pilgrims and create hospitals.  
> -"the wall of the gods": Some Old Germanic beliefs state that the Milky Way was a wall, well, built by the gods.
> 
> Also, as a general note that came to my attention!  
> The name 'Earthborn' actually came from the major inspiration for this fic, Mechina's song "To Coexist Is To Surrender", but it appears it's also a term from the game series "Mass Effect". Whoops! (Also, I would recommend that song [and the rest of their music], because I'm using several themes that are brought up. Warning for death metal, I guess.)  
> Now that's all out of the way, please give me feedback, so I know what do add in later chapters! Thank you all for sticking with me over the little hiatus! <33333


	5. 4 - Mamihlapinatapai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I just want to say I'm so sorry for not updating this in forever, I've just been overwhelmed with stuff. I'm not abandoning this, but I won't be able to work on the next chapter until after my exams, which are very close and the reason I'm pushing this chapter out now. Thank you guys so much for waiting for this, and I would love to hear some feedback on how you guys think this fic is going in general, and any predictions you might have! 
> 
> 'Mamihlapinatapai' comes from the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego, and apparently roughly translates to "a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will offer something that they both desire but are unwilling to suggest or offer themselves."

 

Gilbert was starting to hate this planet. It was cold and dry, and even through the respirators he could smell the thick scent of methane. And as he sped back towards Landing, towing a heavy machine behind him, he could physically feel the loose dirt getting sucked into the inhalation vent of his plas-bike, each particle being incinerated by the minuscule drive and converted into plasma. It wasn't enough to scare him, but he could feel the little jitters along the otherwise smooth ride.

Stupid planet, stupid idea, stupid expedition. The system was home to two average planets orbiting around a tiny star. When prodded about this, Drection dutifully pulled up schematics Gilbert had barely begun to understand.

“ _I have been led here. If you wish, sar, I can run another analysis of the transmission.”_ Alfred hadn't looked all that impressed either, his expression unusually cool as he had looked over the display of the system. The orbits of the planets had been calculated, and were unusual in that they held the same orbital pattern and distance from the star, but were always opposite each other. One planet would always be hidden from the other by the sun, and neither would ever come into alignment.

Alpha-A1 and Alpha-A2; identical in size, atmospheric composition, mass, all those things. Neither of them showed any signs of life, let alone a civilisation capable of beaming out an SOS into the cosmos. Nonetheless, DV was adamant – as much as an artificial intelligence could be – that the fleet was in the right place. Scans of -A2 indicated more mineral deposits, so the main body of the industrious Prussian fleet had been sent there, while the Americans and a subset of the Prussian force had effectively swarmed -A1 in return.

Unfortunately, Alfred, for whatever reason, wanted company while on his little excursion.

And so Gilbert found himself on Alpha-A1 rescuing an American drone in the middle of the nowhere, slowly losing his mind as he listened to American operators jabber on through the intercommunication networks. Being a nation-empire, he was inherently able to understand languages other than his own, from New French to the obscure language made of clicks in the depths of what used to be Africa, so it wasn't that much of a hassle. But it was still annoying.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a little blip by his ear. Exhaling and fogging up his visor for a brief second, his hand shifted on the accelerator to press a little button on his glove, opening up communications.

“ _Sir, how close are you to Landing?”_ Jacob, the young officer from the Congress. How had he managed to slip away from the king's tightly-knit group of confidants and advisers?

“About two clicks away, why?” His plas-bike trembled worryingly as it sucked up and atomised a rather large clump of dirt. The vehicle looked similar to the motorcycles of old, but with a highly efficient plasma converter attached. The creators were not feeling all that creative on the day of its naming.

“ _Mister Jones is very excited about something and has requested your presence as soon as possible,”_ came the polite chirp from the young man. What had he done for the king to let him leave?

“Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes.” Alfred was always excited about one thing or another, when he wasn't annoyed about the lack of results. Gilbert was just happy that the star was big enough for his destroyers to orbit and recharge, the ships being so extraordinarily massive that they couldn't enter orbit of most planets for long periods of time without succumbing to the forces of gravity in what would be a truly spectacular implosion.

As would be expected, measures were taken to avoid such things.

Landing appeared on the horizon as his plas-bike breached a hill, a sprawling complex of laboratories, farms, and industrial centres as the joint Prussian-American forces made themselves at home on the barren planet. They were overshadowed by the drop-ship _Skipper._ The classification of 'drop-ship' was somewhat inaccurate, the ship specifically designed to carry the colonisation effort through the atmosphere and onto the surface, but not necessarily _leave._

“Coming in, requesting authorisation to enter,” he said into the microphone embedded into his helmet, speeding down the hill and letting his visor change opacity as the lights surrounding the complex lit up the desert.

Neither Alpha-A1 nor -A2 had much of an atmosphere to speak of, so there was nothing to filter and spread the light through. The sky was an inky black, with the raw starlight casting sharp, dark shadows. Landing was placed in what observers had realised to be a massive depression covering a decent amount of -A1, with wide plateaus topped by mountains that rivalled the Olympus Mons of Mars. Because of that, vast shadows gathered atop Landing when the sun was beginning to set, as it was as Gilbert arrived.

“ _Entry granted. Welcome back, Mister Beilschmidt.”_ The albino made a noise of acknowledgement and pulled into a hanger, soon switching the plas-bike off and sliding off it's smooth back, petting it almost affectionately before striding off, leaving it with the technicians. It had served him well over the course of decades, and despite pushing from his king he was loath to take up some of the newer vehicles. It was habit, he supposed.

The detox chamber was a rather harmless affair, but like the entry request it was all part of procedure, unbearable, practised procedure that made him want to tear his hair out in order to do _something._ Gilbert was not a fan of standing still for any extended period of time, because it often gave snipers long enough to line up their shots.

As much as he was immortal, regrowing a head was a time consuming and painful experience he generally wished to avoid.

Jacob met him outside of the decontamination chamber, handing him his jacket, taking his helmet and immediately starting to chat his ear off. He liked the boy, but he had a mouth on him.

“Sir, permission to speak freely?” Gilbert could compare his childlike enthusiasm with that of a chipmunk on speed.

“Go ahead,” he replied, shrugging on the jacket over the tight synthetics of his suit. It was a rather marvellous invention, with all the insulation and life support a spacesuit needed, but black and tailored for a flexible and – dare he think it – fashionable fit. The inbuilt boots were audible on the floor as they walked towards what was no doubt a converted conference room.

“I should let you know that, uh, this is my first on-world mission.” Gilbert struggled not to stop there and start beating the human. Instead, he sent him a meaningful glare. This was an elite mission, only the battalions that had experienced aggressive movements in periods of expansion and only the best technicians and leaders were permitted to work on the mighty Prussian fleet. Jacob continued, apparently unaware of his nation's growing rage.

“I just... Wanted to live up to my family name, yanno?” Jacob was speaking the Prussian dialect, but it was obvious that he was shipborn, rather than coming from one of the colonies. “My father– He was the commandant of the Valkyries–“ Gilbert's stride faltered for a brief moment.

“Dittmar? Your father was _Dittmar?_ ”

“Yessir. I was born on the _Freiheit,_ and I've always striven to be the best in my classes. I've seen you and my father on the televisions and... I just want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to come along.” Gilbert wished to reply that he didn't actually give the young human such thing. He was still wondering how Jacob even got away from the king. Perhaps he used his notable heritage and his shipborn birthright of going planetside.

Commandant Dittmar had been... A legend, among the Prussians. Charismatic, strong-willed, patriotic and brave to a fault, the albino still remembered the way he grinned and told him everything would be fine, and then how he pulled the throttle on his fighter and got himself Smeared.

Gilbert didn't have time to chastise the young man before they arrived at a door, which slid open with a slight swish of air. Inside, Alfred and numerous generals were gathered. He was instinctively aware of which ones were his own, but his brain took a second or two to single them out: It had been a part of the agreement that all would wear uniforms of the same organisation.

Putting aside all nationalism in favour of being 'Earthborn' was not as easy as originally thought. The nature of space and the vast distances between each system – let alone the borders of each empire – spanned such time and space that it was inevitable that distinct cultures would arise. The Prussians in particular had forged their own identity as a rebellion from the German Union, a longing for traditional systems and ideals forming the militarised and aggressive backbone of the fledgling empire.

“Ah, Gilbert, you're finally here! Sorry we had to send you out, I was busy and we weren't sure exactly what had happened to the drone,”Alfred chirped as the door closed between the duo. _And we didn't want to risk lives unnecessarily,_ hung in the air after Alfred's words. He understood, of course. It wasn't like they could call for reinforcements, and it wasn't like Gilbert could die in the usual manner.

He did, however, take note of the use of his given name. His nation name would be the preferred pronoun, even his surname would be acceptable. Even his generals looked confused.

“ _Jones._ My adjutant informed me that you wanted me for something?” It never hurt to re-establish formality. First names could wait until they were in private, when they could shed their outward nation personas. Like after the Jump. He had enjoyed allowing himself to participate in meaningless silliness, to his surprise and mild concern. It was probably post-Jump illness, but he might get himself checked out for fatigue. It would probably pass quickly.

The American's lips twitched downwards briefly before he nodded to one of his generals, who obediently flipped off the lights, pressing a button the desk that he was standing behind.

“You know how A2 has more mineral deposits? Well, it seems we were a little hasty with the geological survey–“ He waved his hand and a display of what Gilbert recognised to be A1 appeared, slowly revolving. “–We just finished a deep scan to see if this place was geologically active or not. What we found was... Interesting.” The way Alfred phrased the word indicated what they had found was more than interesting, and actually made it sound rather important. If he interpreted the gleam in Alfred eyes right, he would be correct on both accounts.

“Magma? Ground water? Oil? _Helium-3?”_ It rough order of importance, arranged in ascending order. If this planet and it's sister turned out to be barren but had enough Helium-3, it would be possible to quickly recharge his fleets and tell Drection to recalculate and keep searching. They could be out of this shithole of a system within a month or two.

Alfred gave him a clipped smile. “Not quite. Have a look. We focused on the mountain closest to us – to the west. We considered that it might be an extinct super-volcano, so we were searching for natural mineral deposits, perhaps some magma channels or a caldera if we were lucky. What we got was... Metal. A lot of it. We're still not sure _what_ metal it is, but it's incredibly dense.”

As he spoke, the holographic projection zoomed in on the mountain and flashed. What lay below Gilbert estimated to be ten meters of dirt and rock, there it lay. Or, _they_ lay. Blue highlighted metal lining what appeared to be tunnels, hundreds of them running about like capillaries through a giant beast. Further down the scan lost it's power and the blue blurred into an indistinct mass.

A big mass. The orbital scan was not powerful enough to penetrate the whole way through the planet, but it gave it a good shot and showed that the metal tunnels – probably – ran for hundreds of meters below the surface. The mountain was simply the tip of the iceberg.

Gilbert breathed; he wasn't sure he was capable of anything else. He steeled himself, though, carefully breathing and uncomfortably aware of all the eyes in the room focused on himself.

A faint humming sounded in his ears as the biomechanics in his eyes started up at a thought, the tiny lenses zooming in on the sprawling underground system, a little chip implanted in his brain starting to record.

“...Have you found anything else?” His words were carefully chosen as he leaned forward on the desk, gloved fingers spreading and creaking as they supported his weight. “What of -A2? Any things like... This over there?”

Alfred shrugged, infuriatingly casual about what could possibly be the most important discovery the human species had ever made.

“Nothing as big as this. There are deposits of similar structure, but those are different in their construction and organisation. Could be natural and the result of two separate planets, or there could be a mimicking thing going on, similar how we mimic how things used to be on Earth.” He shrugged again.

“Any sign of geological activity? Tectonic plates?” The questions were rapid-fire, his red eyes locking on Alfred and feeling his biomechanic implants work to read his features accurately and effectively.

The blond grinned. “Yep! Actually, it's rather interesting, apparently geologically this planet 'died' before -A2, even though the minerals on -A2 have tested older than the ones here. There seems to have been some sort of... How would I say this? 'Cross-pollination'? Yes, cross-pollination between the two. However...

“Well, analysis at the soil level on -A1 shows evidence of particles _originating_ from -A2. We're not sure _how_ exactly. But we're working on that, and that's not what I'm calling you and your generals here.” A careful glance was sent towards the assembled Prussian officers, backs straight and black breasts covered in medals thrust forward, like proud peacocks.

Bastards, the lot of them.

Alfred's gaze brushed over Jacob with a curious shine in his blue eyes and the young mortal soon shrunk under the pressure of a mighty nation centring their attention on him.

It was an instinctive reaction; to have the full attention of a nation cowed even the strongest men into submission, the weight of millions behind even a simple glance crushing down on the individual. Nations were less people and more forces of raw nature, conduits for the very _concept_ of humanity.

Gilbert felt his brows rising as Alfred seemed to revel in the expectant silence that hung off every word, the room feeling like a vehicle about to careen abruptly off a cliff if a single pin dropped and upset the delicate balance. He could instinctively feel Jacob shrinking away from the other superpower.

“...Well. I've come to the understanding that your men are experienced with leading breaches of similar structures, right?” Gilbert could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise as Alfred spoke nonchalantly, pulling up grainy footage of distinctly Prussian troops clearing a dark tunnel system.

“That was a peace-keeping operation,” the albino said quickly, trying not to wince as a man in the German Union's colours was ripped through by a kinetic weapon that most likely broke multiple international treaties. How did Alfred get this file? Gilbert remembered that operation, raiding the tunnels beneath one of the GU's colonies to secure that system. It had been a bloodbath, and had been kept firmly under wraps.

“Oh, I'm sure. That's why I want your officers to organise a _peaceful_ and _investigative_ breach of what we're calling the 'Warren'. 'Cause, like, rabbits.” Alfred shot him a too-bright grin that indicated that the Prussian did not have that much of a choice in the matter. He was not the one running the expedition, so why would he? He just had the big guns and the know-how of using them.

Gilbert glanced back at the hologram, the footage looping in the corner. His lip curled slightly as he thought, a terrible habit he really needed to break. “Here.” He used a finger to zoom past the video and to the great Warren, to one of the passages that ran just a few metres below the surface. “We breach here, send in teams and... _'investigate'_ as you say.” Ah, yes, 'investigate'. With heavy weapons, probably.

Preferably.

Alfred's eyes lit up and he visibly relaxed, slouching backwards and crossing his arms. Was he satisfied? Amused? Gilbert could feel his generals slightly leaning towards each other, hear the whispered discussion. He clicked his heel on the ground, drawing them back to attention.

“Is that all, Jones? I have things to organise.” He couldn't help but let himself zoom in on Alfred's expression, which had settled into one of an overweight feline that had just been fed. It was almost predatory as the blond glanced at Gilbert's men and then his own, nodding to dismiss them. Jacob, who had been silent throughout the presentation, shied away from the gaze.

Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, but there was something else about the movement that made it seem infinitely more complicated than that, to the point where it almost seemed rehearsed.

He spoke as the officers left the room, calm gaze settling on Gilbert. “I was wondering if you would do me the honour of explaining what happened.” Gilbert's eyes narrowed. “...On 5C-Epsilon, that is. Our archives don't have much information on it, which I'm sure you're happy about.”

Ah. Alfred was referring to the footage. Gilbert straightened and cocked a brow, neatly folding his arms behind his back.

“...It's a confidential matter, Jones. Just because we're partners in this expedition doesn't mean I'm allowed to reveal that kind of information.”

The American rolled his eyes and strolled closer, flipping off the hologram and the footage with a wave of his hand. The lights came back on automatically, forcing the mechanics in Gilbert's eyes to rapidly adjust in order to focus on Alfred once more. He felt sorry if the chip recording this was somehow recovered and viewed for future archival reference, because there was truly an inordinate amount of time spend analysing the other's features, expressions, and movements.

“...Fine.” Alfred was starting to encroach on his personal bubble. “Coffee, then? We've got a long few days ahead of us.” The suggestion was light, almost airy, but the cleverly masked expression on the other's face was not so. He was sizing up and analysing Gilbert in return, a most curious game of cautious cat-and-mouse.

With a short blink and a thought Gilbert shut off recording, the faint humming from the inside of his skull finally coming to an end.

“I'm starting to think you're flirting with me, Jones,” he said lightly, brows rising at the slightest shift of Alfred's expression. While it was still analytical and curious, the earnestness he had portrayed slid subtly into something more defensive.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Alfred said with a laugh, clapping Gilbert on the shoulder and grinning broadly, “I'm asking you out for coffee, obviously!”

Was there really enough time to have coffee together? There was so much to organise and choreograph. The breach of the Warren, the search, security, as well as outfitting the breach parties with appropriate weapons and briefing them on the situation... Gilbert internally sighed and filed away a reminder for himself.

“...Alright. My quarters or yours?”

 


	6. 5 - Starman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He'd like to come and meet us  
> But he thinks he'd blow our minds"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it's been a while, hasn't it? I've been really busy with life and this chapter has been a bitch to write for various reasons. Hopefully updates will come a bit faster now and I promise I haven't abandoned this fic!  
> Please give feedback after reading, it really helps me out!

 

Sound did not travel in a vacuum, and as such the explosion that rocked the surface of the planet didn't deafen everyone within the immediate vicinity.

Breaching the surface of A2 was not the hardest thing the expert Prussian sappers had ever done, Gilbert's engineers using galaxy-class techniques and equipment developed during the German Secession. They were like ants – tiny, black, and angry against the slope of the Warren, moving and swarming as he listened to their chatter through the complex communication systems that had been set up not hours beforehand.

“You guys have got this under control, haven't you?” came Alfred's voice, who was standing beside him, waiting for the dirt to settle and the sappers to confirm that the operation was a go.

“As much as we can have under control. We've never done this on a legitimately alien planet before.” As he spoke, a sharp _CLEAR!_ sounded over the comms and another explosion went off, rocking the ground on which they stood and sending another plume of dirt into the air.

It hadn't really sunk in to Gilbert quite yet that they were truly millions of light years away from his home galaxy. Jumps tended to warp one's sense of time and space, making things seem so close despite the vast distances in both those elements. While it was not an immediate realisation, he was slowly becoming aware that while they had not travelled in time, any sign of their activities would not reach the Milky Way within a billion years, presumably long after humanity would either perish or flourish.

Such thoughts were not to be lingered on while there was a job to do.

Red eyes flickered to the lines of men – and women, he had to remind himself, for most of the forces assembled were that of the Americans. America did not have the strict traditionalist beliefs that his own society revolved around.

“Sir! We have breached the surface, is the operation a go?” The question was chattered through the comms and Gilbert could feel the eyes of hundreds of men – soldiers and engineers alike – focused on him. Beside him, Alfred shifted his weight.

“My Second Fleet is in orbit overhead and giving us the green light,” Alfred commented, pointing straight up. “They aren't picking up anything out of the ordinary.”

The albino's eyes narrowed within his helmet and he inhaled the recycled air, giving a swift nod. “Operation Earthborn will continue. Everyone at your stations.” As he spoke he switched on the lights topping his helmet and strode forward, moving easily in the suit that had been specifically designed for terrestrial low-atmosphere travel. Slimmer and sleeker, it was packed with the newest life support that let him almost forget that the air he breathed tasted staler than the planet he was standing on.

Alfred followed him and officers fell into step behind them as they approached the hole in the ground, a great fissure bled the loose dirt into a deep darkness below. Ropes were slung over the edge and dangled into the darkness, weighed down but still unsteady to the touch. The ropes themselves were anchored to the planet and used winches to control a mechanised platform jutting out over abyss. It would be lowered, taking the explorers down with it.

“Davie says that the Warren is just below,” Alfred said simply as they stepped onto the platform, and Gilbert could almost hear his smile. “He also says 'hello'.”

Gilbert idly checked his rifle, a wonderful and sturdy kinetic weapon that could conveniently punch through most steel. Alfred's weapon was energy based, a tiny plasma converter in a relatively new design.

“You've got Drection?” He asked, striding onto the platform and peering over the edge, pupils dilating as he tried to get a good look into the darkness below. The faintest whirring noise echoed in his skull, the chip in his head recording everything for future reference.

“Yup! He's just in here.” Alfred tapped the side of his helmet and moved closer, allowing the soldiers and engineers alike file onto the platform. It shuddered under their feet as weight settled.

“What does it think about this, exactl–”

“Ready for descent, sir,” chimed in one of the engineers. “Just give the order.”

“Davie is excited, he thinks this will go well,” Alfred continued as if he hadn't just been interrupted, “He's currently watching us and controlling the Second Fleet's orbit though, so he says he's a bit distracted.”

Gilbert briefly wondered if Alfred would notice if he cut the comms. Also the idea that a computer could get 'distracted' was absurd. _AI_ , he internally scoffed, _what is it good for?_ “ We're ready. Start the descent.”

He shifted his fingers on his rifle and inhaled to clear himself of the jitters as the platform shuddered beneath his feet and started to slide down the ropes, down into the darkness and the unknown. This was merely the surface of some great structure that stretched into the bowels of the earth, riddled with passages and constructed of some strange metal.

Helmet lights lit up the darkness as the soldiers looked around as the dark dirt became indistinguishable and soon took on a metallic sheen in the beams of light. The metal was a dark blue-black that almost seemed to _thrum_ as the platform passed by it.

Gilbert's nostrils flared as he smelled the 'air' change. His life support ran off a mix of stored air, recycled breath, and whatever the atmosphere could provide. A2's atmosphere was incredibly thin, but it was still _there_ and had the most peculiar taste to it. He scraped his tongue across his top teeth and made a face. It smelled like a mix between rust and rot.

“You smell it too?” Gilbert turned to Alfred, who was far too casual for this kind of operation. Gilbert adjusted the light on his helmet so he wasn't blasting the American in the face with it, and Alfred reached up and flipped his face visor from opaque to clear accordingly.

“You made that noise that you always do when you're disgusted with something,” Alfred explained, grinning and shrugging. The little internal lights within his helmet lit up his features, allowing Gilbert to see him properly.

“I didn't know I was even doing it,” he said in a manner that was almost meant to be an apology. “But focus, I think we're there–“ He was cut off by a resounding, hard _thunk_ as the platform finally reached the bottom of the great hole.

The holographic display had seriously underestimated the sheer size of the Warren, Gilbert realised as he – and the dozen or so other men – tilted his head back and tried to focus on the faint lights filtering down into the tunnel that they now lay in.

“Okay captain,” Alfred immediately started, turning to one of his own men, “You're in charge and you're to take your men and establish a forward post in the immediate area. Officer Beilschmidt and I will scout forward.” As he spoke, his stance shifted slightly, his shoulders rolling back and head straight, hands shifting to properly grip his rifle.

Of course, both of them were armed to the teeth in their preferred ways. Alfred had two separate pistols at his hips, Gilbert had another – smaller and with less raw firepower – rifle strapped to his back. Not to mention the multitude of knives he carried just in case, and his... Additions, not just the ones in his eyes. His hands tightened reassuringly around his rifle.

The Americans – the Prussians were to come down soon, after forward base was set up, despite his men being more experienced with this matter. _Politics_ , he had sighed under his breath.

The men immediately started to go to work with barely a ' _yessar_ '. They fanned out into the tunnel and cracked open chemically-reactive lights to bathe the immediate area with white light, pushing away the crushing darkness and allowing them to breath a sigh of relief once they were working in the light.

The metal coating all surfaces seemed to ripple.

“Any particular reason we're scouting by ourselves, Jones?” Gilbert asked, following Alfred as he stepped off the platform, quietly observing the way the other man moved, how each step seemed so calculated and authoritative and so much different from the way he had sauntered around Landing.

“If anything happens, we're not throwing away human lives. Anyway, don't you want to go where no man has gone before?” The soldiers saluted as the two nations strode past, approaching where the Warren tunnelled into the earth.

The ceiling was surprisingly high, but it was unusually... _ribbed_ , as Gilbert noted. Every twenty metres or so there was something similar to the head of a doorway. As they passed under one his head tilted back to try and get a better look. Perhaps it could function like a door, with a sheet of that strange metal dropping from above? That would explain the deepness of the tunnels, after all.

Shadows danced and played as they passed deeper, and the Prussian could feel his suit subtly adjusting as the temperature started to drop, almost unnoticeable at first and then to the point where even Alfred seemed unwilling to go on.

They had passed branches and different corridors, but most of them were curved dramatically downwards, dropping downwards and into a darkness he and Alfred silently agreed to not explore until they had a more stable base of operations.

“Any info from Drection so far?” Gilbert asked the question perhaps half an hour into their otherwise-silent trek into the bowels of the Warren, flexing his fingers on his rifle to keep the blood flowing.

“Davie says he's not picking up anything besides some aftershocks from the Breech. In a few minutes I won't have any contact with him, we'll be too far underground.” The American stopped and turned to Gilbert, giving a helpless shrug. “He says to stay on the main corridor so we don't get lost. We're– A lot deeper than I realised, actually.” Was that... A hint of nervousness in his voice?

Gilbert was almost glad he wasn't allowed a direct connection to Drection for security reasons.

“...How deep are we, exactly?” They hadn't even brought any food, unless Alfred had managed to stuff protein bars into his suit. On the other hand, Alfred's suit did not exactly leave much to the imagination and while Gilbert was not known for his discretion, now was probably not the prime time to blatantly check the other man out.

Alfred's gaze flickered upwards as he probably listened to whatever the AI was telling him, intelligent blue eyes forming into a scowl. “Deep. Davie can't give us proper scans from around this area onwards. We'd be going in blind.” He looked at Gilbert with a serious expression, his energy weapon faintly shedding an off-blue glow in the darkness.

He considered his options. They could go back and wait for more forces to come down and waste precious time, or they could power on and make immeasurable amount of ground in their goals and not worry about the loss of mortal life.

His choice was an easy one.

“We keep going. I know where we came from, so we won't get lost.”

Alfred seemed to consider this for a moment, mulling it over.

“Alrighty, sar.”

And so they went.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Not having an AI to guide them made Alfred surprisingly chattier, which Gilbert wasn't sure if he was glad for or not.

“How do you think the rest of the galaxy is going to react when we tell them we found an alien structure?”

“Assuming this is an alien structure, and not simply a bizarre natural formation,” replied Gilbert, who was firmly ignoring the way the sides and ceiling of the corridor was getting progressively more cramped as they descended.

The floor had evened out after a substantial drop, as did the temperature, but he was still feeling the coolness underneath his suit. Idly, he trailed his fingers across the side of the hallway, gloves gliding across the metal that was possibly smoother than anything else he had touched.

“Assuming it _is_ an alien structure, how do you think they'll react?” Alfred sounded like an excited child, but Gilbert couldn't really blame them.

He shrugged, and ignored another one of those strange door frame-ridges as his fingers trailed across it. “Probably demand we immediately give out all our information. Politically corner us into giving out as much confidential information as they can squeeze out of us. What're you planning to do once we get back?”

“I dunno.” His voice briefly crackled as he spoke, something that had been happening more frequently as they ventured into the dark depths with but their headlights to guide them forward.

“You don't know? I find that hard to believe, Jones.”

“ _Haha_ , in all honesty I'm not sure what I'll do, maybe I'll weaponis–”

“Alfred _wait–_ “

Those headlamps on their head only lighted what was directly in front of them, leaving the sides and ceiling of the walls veiled in shifting shadow, and that was precisely where they had went wrong.

Something shifted under Gilbert's hand and the whole corridor's colour seemed to glimmer in the limited light and the next thing he knew a terrible coldness was wrapped around his hand and was yanking him towards the wall to cause him to stumble and let out a yell, turning and feeling his eyes widen in horror at the shifting expanse of metal that had become some sort of _liquid–_

“What in the sweet fuck is that–“ came Alfred's voice from behind Gilbert, but the Prussian promptly stopped listening when the alien metal started to climb and bubble up and around his arm and then it was a terrible, _searing_ pain that robbed him of breath and thought, his focus solely on the fire burning through his arms and his suit and–

He didn't have to look to see Alfred hurrying over, but he managed to force himself to move, to access the flight part of his instincts and simply wrench himself away from the parasitic wall, freeing himself from being pulled towards it but unable to escape the way the metal coated his arm up to his elbow. It burned and tightened, and he was barely able to register the conflicting cold that came with his suit actually melting under the metal and then further unrelenting burning and a fleshy _fizzling_ for next to him Alfred was–

 

 

 _w         **h**          o      a        r        **e**         y      _ _o **u**_

 

 

The whole corridor seemed to move like passing water and Alfred didn't even have time to scream before a thick sliver of green-black slid from the floor beneath their feet like a rearing serpent and simply plunged into his back without any sort of pomp and circumstance and with enough force for the blackened tip to rip through his suit cleanly and force it's way through the front, right through his diaphragm.

Gilbert was distantly aware of himself screaming, between the agony as he clutched his forearm and begged for everything to simply stop, to the way Alfred was gurgling thickly over the microphone, his lungs likely filling will blood and suffocating him if he wasn't already dead from shock, to the way his head felt too heavy and too full, as if the searing pain draining his mental capabilities wasn't entirely dominating every single thought.

He couldn't hear it, but he imagined his knees made a clang against the unstable metal floor as he fell and curled in on the liquid eating away at his forearm, mouth opened in a scream that crackled over the comms, he could hear himself from the echo in Alfred's helmet, but at least the blond wouldn't have to listen to this, no, the 'spear' was curling its tip and seemed to almost be inspecting its work before it carelessly withdrew and almost threw the limp body heavily to the floor below.

Alfred's eyes, those wonderful blues that glittered like the stars he ruled, were blank and bloodshot and red was tracking down from his nose and lips and _God_ time was slowing down and he could physically feel the way his flesh give way–

 

 

_**w**          h             **a**           t       a          r       **e**        y         o         **u**_

 

 

He knew what he was, he was Gilbert, he had always been Gilbert. Not always _Gilbert,_ sometimes in different forms, sometimes not unified into himself quite yet, but he was still himself– Was he not Prussia? Names change, names always were malleable and fluid like the thing consuming him, but identities were always solid. He was the land and the people and the history that had forged him, built him up and destroyed him in the same breath. He had persisted because his identity lived on, his existence was the culmination of uncountable past lives that had lived and loved and died.

He was Gilbert, he was Prussia, both flesh and blood and merely a concept at the same time, intrinsically linked to the way his body was racked with agony that seared from his arm to his shoulder to his heart. Both Gilbert and Prussia screamed as a voice that was not his own echoed against a mental horizon that burned with fire, as cold as the depths of space and just as lifeless, an incomprehensibly _wrong_ thing that made him curl tighter into his ball on the floor, made Gilbert and Prussia both weep and beg to die already, so he could come back, come back and get that _thing_ out of the space that was reserved for the union of real and abstract.

 

 

_a        h_

 

 

Already he felt himself slipping, sliding into the escape where he could rest, where he would not have to think or feel or _suffer–_ the warmth of oblivion taking him into its arms and shutting him down and letting him finally slip away into a place where neither Gilbert nor Prussia felt their shared agony nor felt the alien pressure against the back of their skull.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _ **s**        o      y     _ _**o**          _ _u     _ _r         e_ _**l**       _ _i      _ _k_ _e m             _ _**e** _

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Earthporn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323156) by [proosh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proosh/pseuds/proosh)




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